


Perfect Pitch

by all_i_do_is_lose



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Orchestra, Watford Seventh Year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_i_do_is_lose/pseuds/all_i_do_is_lose
Summary: Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is a talented violinist, but he wasn't always this good. He had to work for his success.So why should he have to tutor Simon Snow, the most absolutely hopeless musician in all of England?
Relationships: Simon Snow - Relationship, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

Baz

I used to hate practising. There was a long time when violin was my least favourite aspect of my life. I knew I sounded awful, and as someone who is very rarely bad at things, I didn’t want to work on something I didn’t immediately excel at.

Throughout my childhood, my parents forced me to audition for every posh youth orchestra in England. I rarely made it in, and if I did, I sat near the back of second violin. Anyone who knows me at all can tell you I’m not the type to settle for second. But I didn’t want to improve, see, I wanted to quit.

This was before I started at Watford. When my mother was Headmistress, clubs and teams were just as much a part of student life as classes. After the Mage took over, though, the only arts programme left was the orchestra. I auditioned in first year, and I made it in. It was the first orchestra in which I’d ever been placed in the first violin section, and I wasn’t at the front (the concertmaster was an eighth year student), but I was the furthest up out of anyone in my year. I started to practise constantly. Any time Snow was out of the room, my violin was under my jaw. I got good, and fast.

This year, I had a really great audition, and they placed me as concertmaster. I can tell all the upper years resent me for it, but I don’t care; I’m used to people hating me for being more talented than them.

Snow has also joined the orchestra this year, because he’s decided that he must keep tabs on me at all times. He even watches my football practices. He used to come with Bunce, but now he just sits on the bleachers alone. Seriously, alone. No one else comes to watch practices. Not even any of my teammate’s girlfriends. Niall’s bird used to, but she got bored of it fast. It is boring. It’s just practice. There is absolutely no valid reason for Snow to be here.

I try not to make it too obvious when I show off.

Snow is in the percussion section. Everyone in the percussion section at Watford only made it in because they were the only ones to audition. This isn’t even a jab at percussionists, it’s just the truth. No one at Watford plays percussion because they’re skilled at it. They do it for an arts credit.

Snow plays the cymbals, and surprisingly poorly, considering he plays maybe two bars out of an entire piece, and manages to play them wrong every single time, even when Miss Possibelf gives him cues. I can’t even antagonize him about it, because he doesn’t understand that he’s doing it wrong. And I can’t explain why he’s wrong. Believe me, I’ve tried.

I always arrive first to orchestra, because it’s in first period, and I never eat breakfast anyway. Also, as concertmaster, I really should be here first. Miss Possibelf looks up from her score when she sees me.

“Good morning, Basilton,” she says.

“Good morning, Miss Possibelf.” I start carefully unpacking my violin. It was my grandfather’s. “How was your weekend?”

“Fine, thank you,” She replies. I make the mistake of looking into her eyes. She has an intense glare, no matter her emotion. I shiver. “And you?”

“Quite good, thanks,” I say. “I heard we were getting new music this week, yes?”

“We are, and I meant to discuss something with you.” Her gaze gets more intense than before. It’s probably a solo. She gets overly dramatic about asking me to solo. Even though I always say yes.

She looks at the floor.

That’s new.

“You’re a very talented young man, Mr. Pitch, and I’m certain you’ve noticed there are certain students in the orchestra that could handle some private tutoring.” She pulls out some sheet music and a grade 1 musical theory book. “Since you are well acquainted with Mr. Snow, and you have the convenience of a shared room, I decided to allow you to tutor him in exchange for extra credit. Does that sound like a fair deal to you?”

Oh. No. Absolutely not. I don’t need to be forced into closer quarters with the Chosen One. I already put most of my energy into avoiding him.

But… He really could use some work. He’s throwing off the whole orchestra. And Miss Possibelf is very hard to say no to. And extra credit is always good, even though I have a 98 already.

And I would be forced into closer quarters with Snow.

“Yes, absolutely, Miss.” No. “I would be happy to.” _No._

Aleister Crowley.

Simon

The Mage thinks music helps magic. I get that, in a way. But only because we can make spells with song lyrics. I don’t see how lyricless music can help me be a better magician.

The Mage says ear training will help my elocution. I think he read it in some Normal magazine, about how babies are smarter if you make them listen to Mozart, or Beethoven, or whatever - I get those two mixed up. I think it’s too late in my life for music to make me any smarter.

Then, when he realized I’m absolutely hopeless at every instrument he put me on, he told me to try percussion, because timing is also very important in magic, and fighting with magic. I disagree, because I’ve always been good in a fight, and all I’ve used is strength and instinct.

Well. That, and my magic’s stubborn inability to allow me to die. Like the Hulk and Bruce Banner, a bit, except I’m not smart, and I don’t get huge and green when the Hulk takes over, I just explode.

Anyway, all I’ve learned is that music is another thing I’m shit at, and another thing Baz is better than me at, and all in all another reason for him to call me “The Worst Chosen One Who’s Ever Been Chosen”.

I don’t understand musical theory, either. And I don’t know why I have to, if the only thing I actually have to get right is smashing two giant pieces of metal together at the right time.

I walk into orchestra just before first bell rings. My cymbals are already there (it’s not like I can practise alone), so I can get away with always being the last one to show. No one would actually miss me, here. And I like to eat a big breakfast.

As I sit down, Baz stands up and holds up four fingers. Everyone quiets down, and he nods at the oboist (his cousin Dev) to play his first A.

Once everyone’s tuned, Miss Possibelf begins the day.

“Good morning, everyone, and happy Monday.” There is a collection of groans from the orchestra that she chooses to ignore. “Today, we will be getting new music, but I have made a theory assignment based off this music that you are to complete in partners.”

Before everyone starts pairing themselves up, she casts, _**“See what I mean!”**_ and everyone’s names show up, already paired.

Gareth and Rhys

Niall and Dev

Baz and Simon

No. That can’t be right.

I look helplessly at Miss Possibelf, then make eye contact with Baz. He doesn’t seem happy, but he also looks unsurprised. Probably because that’s not one of his emotions. He only has four. I’ve counted.

He strolls over to me, looking cool as ever. Expressionless. Absolutely nothing behind his storm-grey eyes. Maybe that’s why he’s so good at hiding his feelings. It’s his eye colour, no doubt. They’re like thousands of layers of pale grey, so looking at them is like being lost in a fog. There’s no way to see anything behind that.

“Hello, Snow.”

“Baz.” He sits down beside me, placing the assignment on the desk. “Did you do this on purpose?”

He raises one of his eyebrows at me. He knows I hate that. “Do what?”

“This,” I say. “Did you make Possibelf pair us together? What are you planning?”

“I’m planning on getting a good grade in this class, even despite my unfortunate luck of being partnered with you.” He sneers at me. “If you do anything to prevent me from doing so, I’ll have to kill you.” He looks down at his nails, which are also perfect. If it was anyone else, I’d think he was kidding, but even with his easy tone I can tell when Baz is threatening me.

I wonder if he gets manicures. Agatha tried to make me come to the spa with her one day last year, when we were still together. She said men get their nails done, too, but I didn’t want to. I already bite my nails down to nothing, so I don’t see what could be done with them. They’d probably just kick me out.

Maybe perfect nails are another vampire trait. He breaks focus from his nails to look at me. He raises the other eyebrow, this time. Show off.

“You’ve tried to kill me already, Baz. I haven’t died yet.”

–––––

Miss Possibelf dismisses class early, but calls Baz and I up to her desk. Again, Baz looks unsurprised. Maybe he really was plotting this.

“Simon, I noticed you have been struggling with this class.” I open my mouth to protest, but she's right, I just don’t get why she has to say all this in front of Baz. “You have not been succeeding in the regular classroom format. In the upcoming unit, we will be focusing on musical-magickal theory, so I need you to have a better understanding of basic musical theory before we can move on to that. Understand?”

I nod. “Yes, Miss.”

Baz is still looking at his hands. He cracks his knuckles. “Excellent,” She continues. “To bring you to a more confident place with your work, I have asked Basilton to tutor you.” Baz doesn’t look up. I know my mouth is hanging open like an idiot, but I can’t help it. I can tell he’s already agreed to this.

“Alright,” I say. “Thank you, Miss.”

The bell rings, and Baz practically sprints out of the room, which is stupid, because I have next class with him, too, so it’s not like he’s going to avoid being interrogated. I need to know what he’s getting out of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've hit peak quarantine boredom.
> 
> It's been a long time since I've written anything, so let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon is still trying to figure out why Baz would agree to tutor him. Penny and Agatha want to know what could possibly make Baz skip class. Baz wants to know what it'll take for the universe to allow him some rest.

Baz 

I’ve never skipped class.

I probably shouldn’t skip class.

On the one hand, if I did skip class, I wouldn’t be missing much. I’m already years ahead in Greek. The Minotaur can’t really teach me any more - I’m already fluent. And I need to avoid Snow. He’s recently discovered a new interrogation tactic, which involves grabbing me by the collar and pulling me so close to his screaming face that I could lick him if I just stuck out my tongue.

On the other hand...

Imagine how disappointed my mother would be if she knew I was even considering skipping class to avoid a boy.

Maybe I should do a year abroad.

—————

Phillippa Stainton is sitting in my seat. I’d threaten her to leave, but I just don’t have the energy right now. She probably just wants to sit with her friends, anyway.

It’s not that seats were ever assigned, but still. It’s just common courtesy. That’s my spot.

I choose another desk at the back corner of the classroom. I don’t think anyone sits here, and the type that does usually doesn’t come to class anyway. Plus, it’s far away from Snow’s desk.

The bell rings, and everyone settles down. Snow is late, which is typical for him. Probably got kidnapped by some monster along the way, or by the Mage, or just got caught up talking to his fan club.

Snow spends the entire period glaring daggers at me. I can feel his magic rolling off him and filling up the room.

When class ends, I slip out before he can confront me.

—————

I skip lunch again. I want to get a head start on the new music we received, so I go back to the room to practise. Mealtimes are the best time to play in the room, because I can be sure that Snow won’t show up to bother me.

I used to bring my violin to the catacombs to practise, but the acoustics are weird, and I worry about the cold, dusty air on my instrument.

My sight reading skills have definitely improved over the years, and this piece is relatively easy, but I still don’t feel comfortable sight reading with an entire orchestra judging me. I can’t afford anyone seeing me make mistakes. 

I don’t expect Simon to show up, but I always play facing the door, just in case. Usually, I’d be able to smell him before he even reaches our floor, but I get hyper focused when I practise — especially if it’s new material.

I play through the whole piece once, then again, marking all the spots I have trouble with. I repeat the difficult sections until they’re perfect, and then I play it through in its entirety again.

My fingers feel tender, even beneath all my calluses. I loosen my bow and pack up my instrument.

The Mage banned electronics at Watford, but I need to listen to music to learn it properly, so he’s a madman if he thinks I’m not bringing my phone. Most people do, anyway. And it’s not like I use it to text or call anyone. Everyone I know is here.

Untangling earbuds is one of my few skills. I can do it in seconds flat. I add the new piece to my classical playlist and listen.

I have a spare period after lunch, so I could be practicing some more, but it’s likely that Snow returns to pick up stuff he forgot he needed for class. Plus, I’m tired. I’ve spent the last few nights in the Catacombs, and I would be getting a lot more sleep if I was left alone to hunt, but actively avoiding Simon while scouring for rats is a time-consuming activity.

I really could use a nap. I set an alarm so I don’t miss last period, and I close my eyes.

Simon 

Baz is asleep when I get back to the room. I left my notebook for political science. It’s not like I take notes, anyway, but I think it’s better to at least look like I understand what’s going on.

I try to be as quiet as possible (Baz gets real pissy when I wake him up), but our room is small and old, and the floor creaks every time I step on it. 

Baz’s hair is spread out all around his head, and I can tell he’s wearing earbuds, but I’ve never really cared about that. It’s not like he’d get expelled if I snitched on him anyway, his phone would just get confiscated and he’d push me down the stairs again. 

Baz has a mark under his jaw that I’d think was a hickey if I didn’t know any better. Last year, I started a fight with him over it, because the first time I saw it was when he’d been non-stop flirting with Agatha, and I figured he finally made his move.

As it turns out, you get neck bruises when you play violin a lot. I’ve noticed it on a few other violinists and violists since.

I grab my notebook and tiptoe out of the room. The door creaks when I open it. 

“Simon.” Fuck. I woke him up. 

When I turn around he’s still asleep. Fucking vampire. It’s like he was born to creep me out. He was probably dreaming about murdering me.

—————

I try to focus in Political Science, but that’s difficult to do when Penny writes like a maniac. She doesn’t believe in using short forms in her notes – she thinks it makes it harder to memorize – and she thinks she needs to take down every word the professor says, as well as writes, or she’ll fail the course.

I mean, I guess it works for her. She’s neck and neck with Baz for top of the class. But it’s difficult to concentrate when the sound of her pen scratching the desk is louder than the professor’s voice. Baz writes with this fancy brush calligraphy pen, so I don’t have this problem when he’s next to me, even though his notes are just as meticulous.

I still can’t imagine why Baz would agree to tutor me. He probably has 100% in music anyway, so there’s really nothing he could get out of this. And I know he doesn’t want to be stuck with me any more than I want to be stuck with him.

Though I am looking forward to at least having an idea what’s going on in that class. He may be a prick, but he is a talented musician.

I try to zone back in to what the professor is saying, but it’s hopeless.

Penny wakes me up at the end of class.

—————

I feel disoriented in Potions. We’re making some sort of truth potion, and no one has explained to me why this is legal, but compulsion spells aren’t. It smells horrible, and I think I’ve made mine entirely wrong, which is disappointing because Potions is pretty much the only class I’m good at.

When I look around, everyone else’s potions are a translucent sky blue colour, but mine is thick black.

This is probably a hazard. My potion is bubbling over the edges of the cauldron, and I swear there’s something alive in there. Normally, I’d ask Penny for help, but we don’t have this class together.

I tap Rhys on the shoulder – he seems to be the most capable between him and Gareth.

“Mate, do you have any clue what we’re supposed to be doing?”

Rhys’ eyebrows lift to his hairline. “Definitely not _that_.”

He casts, **_“Into thin air!”_ ** on my potion, which I’m grateful for, because that’s one of the spells I really can’t control.

“Thanks,” I say. Rhys gives a nod and turns back to his work.

I know this means I’ll get a zero, but I figure a zero is better than a zero plus one destruction of classroom.

The bell rings, and my stomach immediately growls. It knows it’s tea time just at much as my brain does.

—————

I run back to the room to grab my jumper, and I find Baz still asleep. He must’ve missed class. He’s got an alarm still going off, quietly, that he’s clearly slept through.

I don’t try to be quiet, this time. He’ll be mad when I wake him, but he’ll be more mad later if I don’t, so I purposely stomp around a little before picking up my jumper.

He’s never slept so deep before. I throw my jumper on over my shirt, and slam my wardrobe doors a couple times. That does it.

“ _Snow_ ,” he hisses. “What the _fuck_.”

“Hello, Baz. Hope you had a lovely rest. It’s tea.”

He sits up. “ _What?_ ”

“It’s tea time, Baz. Just get up.”

He shoves the heels of his hands so hard into his eyeballs I worry he’ll blind himself. Well, not worry, I guess. It’d just be my advantage in the end.

“Fuck, _no._ I can’t believe this. I missed class.”

I roll my eyes. “Lots of people miss class. I’m going for tea.”

I run down the stairs of Mummers. I can practically smell the scones. Penny and Agatha will probably be there already, so I’m not worried because Pen usually saves me a couple.

—————

The girls seem to be having an intense conversation when I arrive. I was glad Ags and I could stay friends after we broke up, but I don’t think she and Penny get along that well. It’s unfortunate, because neither of them have any other friends.

“What are you talking about?” I pull up a chair and grab a scone.

Agatha speaks first, which is unusual. “Baz wasn’t in French today. We had a presentation and he missed it.”

“You were in a group with Baz?” I know Agatha gets along fine with Baz, but Penny doesn’t, and they usually avoid being grouped together to keep up their weird unspoken competition.

Penny nods. “I was tired of being in groups with incompetent people. Baz is fluent in French.”

Makes sense, but still. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Penny says, “We didn’t think it was important,” at the same time Agatha says “We didn’t want you to get upset.” Then, they both glare at each other.

“I’m not upset,” I say. “It’s just a class project.”

“Right. So, do you know where Baz was?” Penny asks.

“Oh. Yeah. He was asleep.”

Agatha scrunches her nose, and Penny furrows her brows.

I can tell they’re going to ask more questions, but I’m hungry. I put a slab of butter on my scone and say, “I guess he was tired,” before shoving the entire thing in my mouth.

In first year, I asked Penny if they used magic to make the food at Watford, because it’s so good, it’s hard to believe it’s just cooked normally. She said yes, because it is, in the way that Cook Pritchard will magickally whisk together ingredients so her arms don’t get tired, but the food is real. It takes a lot of power and energy to magickally create food.

It’s only seventh year now, but I think about what comes after Watford a lot. I know I’ve still got lots of time, but I don’t have any clue what I’ll be doing when I graduate. That is, if I don’t die in a ball of fire before then.

I pour myself some more tea, but I stop when I get that dry, itching feeling again.

The Humdrum.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humdrum attack, sharing headphones, shirtless Simon.

Simon

The Humdrum’s sent flibbertigibbets, which is odd because they’re more of a nuisance than a threat. Penny casts  **_“Dead in the air!”_ ** six times, but she only takes out two or three at a time, and there’s still more of them than I can count.

I see one fly into her hair, so I cast  **_“Shoo, fly, shoo!”_ ** at it because it’s the only spell I can think of that doesn’t seem risky to cast at a person. It’s a more difficult task for me than others.

I’m slashing at the air hopelessly with my sword, doing absolutely nothing to deter the tiny bastards. I try to remember any spells that could work in this situation, but for some reason all I can remember are spells for heating up food right now. I consider  **_“Dead in the air,”_ ** but I have a feeling that won’t go well for me.

I cast  **_“Down came the rain!”_ ** in hopes that they’ll all be grounded, but instead it just starts pouring, which is cool, because I’ve never been able to do weatherization spells properly, but also not cool, because we’re still inside the cafeteria.

The rain does seem to affect their flying, though. They’re still buzzing, but they look sluggish and weighed down. Penny is still rattling off spells, but giving me a death glare now. The rain makes her hair even more wild. The cafeteria is starting to flood to my shins.

**_“Sleeps with the fishes!”_ ** My magic feels just barely in control, and I think I’d go off if the spell didn’t work, but each of the bugs take a nosedive into the water and don’t come back up.

The ceiling is still pouring, so I focus my wand on it and shout,  **_“Up came the sun and dried out all the rain!”_ ** which I’m not entirely sure is the actual spell, but it’s the end of the rhyme so it works fine.

The flibbertigibbets remain dead still on the ground.

—————

Baz isn’t in the room when I get back, so I hang my soaked clothes out the window and hop in the shower. 

I’m a weird mix of hot and cold right now; I nearly went off, but the rain plus the windy walk back to Mummer’s chilled me through.

I turn the knob until it’s the temperature I like and hop in. In my opinion, cold showers are for people who don’t fear death, but I don’t like it when they’re too hot, either. What’s the point of having a shower that makes me sweat?

I dry myself off once my body temperature is back to normal.

My clothes don’t seem any drier than before, so I wring them out and drape them over the shower head. I know they’ll be wrinkled as all hell tomorrow, but it’s the weekend, so I don’t care. I throw on some trackie bottoms and bring my homework to my bed.

I like to do my homework in the order of my classes, because I feel like that way, it’s less likely that I’ll forget every single thing I learned first period. Unfortunately, this method doesn’t really work when my first period class is music. I still don‘t have a basic understanding of anything we’ve learned, even though it’s almost midterms.

Maybe I’ll just leave it for later. It is supposed to be a partnered project, after all. I’ll wait for Baz to get back.

Baz

Snow is just about tearing his hair out when I get back to the room, which isn’t a rare sight. He is also sitting shirtless on his bed, with his Greek textbook resting on his crossed legs.

“Have you ever tried working at a desk, Snow?”

“Yes. I don’t prefer it.” He looks up at me, still tugging at the too-long hair at the back of his neck. He looks exhausted, and his lip is jutted out in a pout. “What do you want?”

“What I want,” I sigh, “Is for you to put a shirt on. What are you working on?”

“Greek. Studying.” This is the most civilized conversation we’ve had since… Well. Ever. He still doesn’t move to clothe himself.

“We don’t have a test for another week and a half. What are you studying for?”

“I want to pass, Baz,” He says, growing agitated. “We didn’t all have the luxury of learning Greek and French and Latin the moment we left the womb.” He shuts his textbook and runs his hands over his face.

“I hardly think I learned to speak at birth, Snow–”

“Shut up, Baz. I could barely even speak English ‘til I was ten.” He growls. “I’m just so sick of this class.”

I sit down next to him (on  _ his bed _ ) and grab his textbook, which has his homework conveniently shoved between the pages he was working on. It’s just verb conjugations, and I don’t know what he’s so stressed about, because most of them are correct. I tell him so.

“Yeah, but only because I can check my notes. I’m still screwed for this test. There’s no way I can answer an essay question in Greek.” He sighs, and reaches into his bag.

“We could study together, if you like.” He looks at me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m plotting, which is actually fair this time because I also don’t know why I thought I should suggest that. The simplest answer I can come up with right now is masochism.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re already helping me in orchestra. Speaking of,” he says, pulling out our assignment. “How did you want to divide this up?”

He seriously thinks I’m letting him do half of the questions. On an assignment that counts towards my mark. With no help whatsoever.

“We’re not _dividing_ _it_ , you absolute numpty. I’m supposed to tutor you. Give me that.” Our hands brush when he hands it to me, and if there’s any blood in me at all, it rises to my cheeks, which is stupid and cliché and makes me hate myself even more than I already do. “Have you listened to the piece yet?”

He furrows his brows. Cute. “No. I don’t have any way to.”

“Right.” My hand goes to my pocket, and I hesitate for a moment before remembering that Snow has already seen my phone dozens of times and not snitched, so there’s no reason to be paranoid. “I’ve got it downloaded, if you’d like to hear it.”

He nods, so I unwrap my earbuds and put one in my ear before handing the other to him. He has to lean in so as not to yank it out of either of us.

Simon Snow is sitting beside me, shirtless on his bed, listening to music with me. If there is a God, I can be sure that he is homophobic, because there is no other possible explanation for this torment.

Well. I suppose there are other reasons God would hate me.

He taps his fingers in time with the music on the space between us on the bed, proving that he does, in fact, have a concept of rhythm, so that’s a start.

“Did you hear the key change there?” I pause the music.

He hums agreeingly. “It got higher.” Correct.

“Yes. So, one of the questions was how many key changes there are. Mark a tally there for now.”

Once the song ends, we spend the better part of the night arguing over whether the first key counts as a key change or if we should start counting from the first switch between keys, which is idiotic, because if she wanted us to count the first key she would just ask how many different key signatures there are. We end up writing my answer, four, and agreeing to confirm with her tomorrow.

I grab my things and go into our en suite to prepare for bed. As I’m brushing my teeth, I hear Snow half humming, half scatting the melody, and it’s a shame we only have the orchestra because he would make a wonderful jazz vocalist. He sounds like Sinatra, if Sinatra had the most jumbled mix of English accents anyone has ever had the displeasure of hearing.

Snow uses the bathroom after me. His nightly routine consists of brushing his teeth for 20 seconds maximum, tripping over nothing on the long journey from the bathroom to his bed, and getting under the covers facing the wall. Then, he tosses and turns until finally deciding to sleep on top of the covers, like he does every night, facing me, and drifts off.

I count his moles and freckles until I fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goofing around in class and spending the night in the woods to avoid responsibilities. Your average Tuesday.

Simon 

We have another work period in music, which is nice because we don’t get them all that often. Miss Possibelf tells us to continue working with our partners. I make eye contact with Baz, hoping he’ll come here so I don’t have to move, but I ultimately lose the stare-down and join him at his seat.

“We’re ahead of the class,” He says as I sit down.

“How do you figure that?”

He rolls his eyes at me. “How do you pass any class you have without Bunce? It says on the board.”

Sure enough, Miss Possibelf wrote that questions 1-13 were due by the beginning of class tomorrow, but Baz and I worked through 18 questions last night.

“Oh.” I close my books. “So, what do you wanna do?”

“Well, we could probably finish the whole assignment package by the end of class, and then we can hand it in and ask if she has any other work for us.”

I stare at him and wait for any indication that he’s kidding.

I really don’t think he’s kidding.

“Baz,” I say seriously. “You have just learned that you have an absolutely free period to do whatever you want, and your best idea is to beg for more work.” 

I take a sheet of paper from my binder that was supposed to be a note at some point, but turned into a page full of tornado doodles, and start ripping off pieces and crumpling them into little balls.

“Snow, there is absolutely no scenario in which I would join you in making spit balls.”

“What- These aren’t _spitballs_. We’re not twelve. These are footballs.”

“Footballs,” He repeats, incredulous.

“Yes,” I sigh. “Footballs.”

“Snow, I know you didn’t make the team, but I think you’ve stalked me at enough of my practices and games to know these are not footballs.”

“I don’t stalk you-”

“My entire team would disagree.”

“-And bugger off, it’s a game. Make a goal with your fingers.” He does. I swing my chair around so I’m across the desk from him, and flick one of the paper balls at his ‘net’. It misses, and hits him in the face, which is still kind of a win because I’ve never seen his entire face scrunch up like that before.

He laughs and grabs a handful of the paper balls and starts chucking them at me, purposefully aiming for my hair, which I’ve grown accustomed to as a curly-haired person — Philippa Stainton used to do that to bug me constantly. Once, I found paper still stuck two days later.

“This is not what the game is supposed to be!” I shout, covering my head with my arms and slouching in my seat.

Then, Miss Possibelf clears her throat behind me.

“Boys,” She says in that sweet way teachers do when they’re about to give you detention (or worse, a lecture). “Have you completed the assigned work?”

“Yes, Miss,” Baz and I say in unison.

“Wonderful to hear. May I see proof?”

Baz hands her our assignment, and her eyes widen a bit (which makes sense, we aren’t exactly the picture of productivity), but she checks it over and nods. “Very well. Try not to spend the rest of the period disrupting your classmates, though, they deserve a focused environment.”

“Of course, Miss,” Baz says in his teacher-charming voice. “My apologies.”

Once she’s out of earshot, Baz actually _giggles_. It’s shocking – he sounds too innocent. And happy.

“What?”

“That was terrifying. Crowley, you should have seen her face. Also, you still have paper in your hair.”

—————

I’m excused from second period because the Mage wants to see me in his office. He sent a little bird with a note for me to give the Minotaur, and he didn’t seem happy about it but he did let me leave. I’m sure it won’t take up the whole period, anyway; the Mage doesn’t like to waste his time with long conversations. He pretty much just spews a mission and inspirational quotes at me and then sends me off.

The door to the Mage’s office is just slightly ajar, so it opens more when I knock, which is a little awkward.

“Uh, hi Sir.” The Mage whips around to look at me. He’s sitting on the floor surrounded by maps and a few books. I glimpse the spine of one with the title: ‘ _Dark Creatures Vol. 3: Goblins’_.

“Simon,” He nearly shouts, standing and brushing off his trousers. “You got my bird. Good. We have lots to discuss.” He gestures at the chair in front of his desk and sits down across from it.

“What did you need to see me about, Sir?”

“We have a problem, I’m afraid. I’m sure you’ve noticed the goblins have been more confrontational lately, yes?”

I hadn’t. They’re always confrontational with me. I nod, anyway, because I don’t want the Mage to think I’m dumb.

“Right, so I’m sure you know where I’m going with this,” He says. I don’t, so I just stare at him. “I need you to bait them. You’re obviously their biggest target, so I think it would be best if we used you to lure them, and then I will have them questioned. I believe their aggression might be linked to the Humdrum.”

I search his face for any signs that he’s kidding, but the Mage isn’t one for jokes.

“You want me… to _bait_ them?”

“Yes. So, tomorrow, after you eat breakfast, I’ll meet you here and we can be on our way. You can leave your wand in my office, it’s better if you’re defenseless so that more of them feel confident enough to approach you.”

What the _fuck?_

“Sir, isn’t there any way this can wait until the weekend? I have classes.”

“Nonsense, I’ll have you excused from your lessons.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and guides me to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Simon.”

—————

Greek rarely makes sense to me, and it definitely didn’t help to come in halfway through the lesson. I don’t see any way I’ll pass if the Mage keeps pulling me out to go on quests. I’m relieved when class ends, and I meet Penny on the Great Lawn so we can walk to Political Science together.

She marches up to me, cape billowing around her. 

“Hey Si, did you remember your notes today?”

“Yeah. I might need to borrow yours for the next couple of days, though.” She raises an eyebrow at me, so I add: “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. Why?”

“Mage needs me. Goblins”

“Morgana,” she sighs. “As if you don’t spend enough time fighting goblins.”

I drag my hand down my face. “Well, I’m not exactly going to be fighting them this time.”

Penny stops walking to look at me. “Simon,” she says, slowly. “Please tell me the Mage is not trying to negotiate with the _Goblins_.”

“He’s not,” I promise. “He’s hoping to kidnap some, I think. To interrogate.”

“And he thinks he’ll be able to do so without a fight?”

“Well, sort of. He wants to use me as bait and trap them.”

She gives me a look like she’ll never understand how stupid I am, or maybe how stupid the Mage is, and keeps walking.

“You agreed to be live bait for the goblins.”

“Yes.”

“A species that has been trying to kill you for years.”

“Yes.”

“A species that is out for your head, because whichever goblin successfully kills you is literally crowned king.”

“Well, I don’t really think that’s been confirmed,” I say.

“ _Simon._ ”

“ _Penny._ ”

“You and the Mage are out of your minds. I used to think it was just him, but you’re just as mad as he is.”

Political Science is awkward to sit through.

—————

Baz 

I watch Snow eat dinner from across the dining hall and tune out the conversation between Dev and Niall.

He looks tired, and he’s eating an amount of food that would be considered normal for any other person, which is obviously concerning.

“Baz, please tell Dev that he has absolutely no chance with Agatha Wellbelove,” Niall says.

I hold intense eye contact with Dev as I say, “You have absolutely no chance with Agatha Wellbelove,” and return to my staring. But Snow is standing up and walking out.

Interesting.

I’d follow him, (because I’m pathetic) but I wouldn’t want to fill my minion’s heads with any suspicions, so I stay.

“I think I do,” Dev argues. “Agatha has been looking over here a lot more since she dumped the Chosen One-"

“Looking over at Baz,” Niall cuts in.

“-And she asked me for help in French the other day.”

“Dev, come on,” Niall groans. “She only asked you for help because she’s rubbish at French and Baz wasn’t there for her to copy off of.”

“I do not let her copy my work,” I huff, offended. “That’s plagiarism, and it’s illegal.”

“Shut up, Baz.”

Niall nods in agreement. “Yeah, shut up, Baz.”

I poke at my food and try not to look like an indignant child. When students start gradually leaving the dining hall, I make an excuse to the boys about needing to study, and make my way to Mummers.

—————

Simon Snow is practically buzzing on his side of the room. I make an attempt to do some actual studying, but I can’t even pretend to focus with all his nervous energy. When I look over at him, he opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then shuts it again.

“Snow,” I snarl. “ _What_ do you _want?_ ”

He blinks his completely ordinary blue eyes at me. “Um.”

“Um…” I echo.

“Do you know how to sneak out past curfew?”

I look at his fidgeting hands and bouncing leg. I feel like he would do a lot better in school if he had some sort of fidget toy. The Mage banned Fidget Spinners, specifically, a few years ago, because people started casting **_Up, Up, and Away!_ ** on them after spinning so that they’d fly around uncontrollably and break things, but I’m sure there’s some variant he’d allow. Anyway.

“Why would I know how to sneak out past curfew?” I ask. “And why do you want to?”

Simon rubs at the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t know… You’re sneaky. And you’ve been out past curfew before, and I need to get out of here before tomorrow morning.”

“ _Why?_ ”

He growls. “Just- can you-” He sighs. “ _Please_ , Baz. I’ll owe you one. I just really need some help.”

I pretend to reluctantly consider for a few moments, but I know I won’t be able to turn him down. 

“You are going to regret owing me.”

—————

Simon and I walk as far as the Wavering Woods, and then he suddenly stops and sits on the floor.

What a weird fucking week it’s been.

“Done, then?”

“Yeah. Goodnight,” He replies, and lies down in the mud, his hands behind his head, and closes his eyes.

“Snow.”

“Yeah?”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He opens one eye to look at me and says, “Making camp.”

“You seem to know very little about wilderness survival.”

“I’m sure I have more experience being stranded outside than you do,” He says. Then mutters, “Posh prick.”

I ignore the last bit and sit down beside him on the spot with the most grass and least dirt. “How do you figure that?”

“Well,” he says. “I mean, you’re pretty sheltered, so. I doubt you’ve ever been locked out at night. Have you ever even been camping?”

I haven’t, but he doesn’t need to know that. “You’re making assumptions. I could have taken wilderness survival courses. I could have certifications. If you were smart, you’d take my advice so you don’t freeze to death.”

He shrugs. “‘S’not cold.”

Easy for him to say. It’s late Autumn, so there’s a chilly breeze that’s cutting straight through my jacket. Snow is naturally never cold, which is something I envy about him. The chill of the dead is certainly not one of the changes I’d consider a vampire perk.

He’s a human space heater, and he’s got an old jean jacket on over his hoodie.

“The weather is shit, Snow. I’m freezing. The only good thing is that it isn’t raining.”

He laughs. “I’d be more careful not to jinx that, if I were you.”

“I could cast a spell to keep dry if I needed to.” I poke his shoulder. “You would be the one who would suffer.”

“Tough talk from a guy who can’t keep his teeth from chattering,” He teases. Then, he hesitates before asking, “Did you want my hoodie?”

I can feel my heart beating against my chest, which I know is stupid, but this is uncharacteristically nice of him. Or, uncharacteristically nice to me, specifically. I feel thrown off.

“That’s alright,” I respond. I don’t think I’d be able to wear Snow’s clothing without obviously inhaling his scent. “I’ll light a fire.”

“Baz, if you light a fire here, the whole woods could go up in flames.”

“Maybe that’s my plan,” I say as I collect sticks and tinder. “At least we’d go out warm.”

“I’d rather freeze to death than burn alive, thanks.”

“Good,” I say seriously. “I will keep that in mind for later.”

He huffs a sarcastic laugh. “Whatever. Did you wanna take sleep shifts, or just take our chances with whatever lives out here.”

“You’d trust me to watch over your safety as you slept? I just threatened to kill you.”

“Only implied,” He says. “I guess you’ve a point, though; a risky full night’s sleep it is. Goodnight, Baz.” He covers his eyes with his arm and makes himself comfortable on the ground.

I fall asleep with the image of Simon Snow snoring on the ground beside me, the firelight illuminating him in soft gold, and a heavy layer of my protection spells over both of us.

“Goodnight, Simon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I did disappear for several months because regular updates will not exist until I have some concept of time again. time is fake.
> 
> also I didn't want to write anything after finishing my stupid english essay because words do not work anymore. anyway, enjoy this because I literally did not edit it at all. if y'all wanna point out any mistakes or inconsistencies, pls feel free to do so bc i am too damn tired. goodnight.


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